


Building Blocks

by Lisztful



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pack Family, Stiles is den mom omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 15:32:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/541032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lisztful/pseuds/Lisztful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles doesn’t exactly mean to start cleaning up after everybody, it’s just that, well, sometimes he thinks Derek turned them into <em>actual</em> animals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Building Blocks

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Erda for the beta! Also heyyyy new fandom, I can't get enough of Teen Wolf, omggggg

Stiles doesn’t exactly mean to start cleaning up after everybody, it’s just that, well, sometimes he thinks Derek turned them into _actual_ animals. 

They’ve been meeting at the Hale house for a long time, now, long enough that Derek had finally given in to everybody’s silent looks of disdain (well, Lydia’s silent looks of disdain) and started fixing it up. The first room he finished after the downstairs bathroom was Isaac’s , which is actually too cute for words. But after that it had been the living room, big and drafty, but pretty cozy now that it has things like carpets and curtains and actual walls. Then it was the kitchen, and now it’s just whatever odds and ends and bits Derek seems to feel like working on. Stiles figures he worked on his own room at some point, but nobody’s ever seen it so it’s hard to confirm. 

So, once there’s an actual house to hang out in, and everyone’s there until the evening exhausting themselves on training, it becomes sort of normal for the whole pack to pile in and watch crappy movies, or sometimes play videogames. They usually convince someone (generally Stiles or Derek, given the existence of their cars) to go pick up takeout. Stiles totally didn’t intend to clean up after anybody, but on this particular night, he’s the last person to go into the kitchen to throw away his paper plate, and it’s just _gross_. That’s why, when Derek pads quietly into the room, Stiles is up to his elbows in paper towels, wiping off all the things. Seriously, it’s disgusting. 

“I was going to do that,” Derek says quietly, watching him. Stiles figures it’s true, since the house is never horrifying when they get there, although it usually is by the time they leave. It’s hard to imagine Derek scrubbing his kitchen, alone in the evening, but there’s no other obvious explanation.

Stiles shrugs. “I couldn’t leave it like this,” he admits. “It’s like they were raised by actual wolves.”

Derek shrugs back, mirroring Stiles. It’s probably subconscious, but it’s hard to say. Derek is better with body language than he is with words. 

Derek closes the door, leaning comfortably back against it. “Need help?” 

“Nah,” Stiles says. “Go kill zombies.” He can hear the sounds of video-game carnage from the living room, though it’s muffled by the door.

“Pack bonding,” Derek says easily. “They don’t need me around all the time.” He straightens, all easy grace, and crosses the room, running a hand over the newly wiped-down counter. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” Stiles says awkwardly, and watches Derek empty the trash with his ridiculous muscles. Stiles is pretty lucky no werewolves seem interested in asking him about it, because there’s no way he’d ever be able to convince them that he wasn’t totally ogling Derek’s ass as he slips out the kitchen door, trash bag in tow.

“Come on,” Derek says a second later, startling Stiles. Nobody should be able to move that fast.

“Okay,” Stiles says, because there isn’t really anything else left to do. They go watch bloody zombie murders, and Stiles is surprisingly content.

So after that, it becomes some sort of routine. Everyone comes over and eats, and afterward, Stiles and Derek hang out in the kitchen, ostensibly cleaning, but really just basking in the quiet calm of the evening. Or at least, that’s what Stiles is getting out of it. It’s hard to say why Derek participates, although he seems warmer, easier, when they’re alone like this. He still doesn’t talk much, but it’s comfortable, companionable. He seems to like being up in Stiles’ space, nudging against his shoulder, reaching across him to put glasses back in the cabinet. Stiles, well, Stiles doesn’t mind that at all. 

The next thing that happens is pretty much a result of Derek being an idiot, which isn’t at all surprising.

Some dickwad first-liner on the lacrosse team is having a big party for all the cool kids, which means that Scott and Jackson are going (carpooling, no less) and Stiles is emphatically not invited. Scott had told Stiles he could still come along, but he’s not in the mood to watch people be annoyed at his general existence. He ends up at Derek’s instead, having a spirited discussion about werewolf biology and restorative herbs. Derek is actually saying sentences containing multiple words, so both the geek part of Stiles’ brain and the part that takes secret enjoyment out of Derek’s pleasure, are happy.

Isaac interrupts them right when Stiles is getting to the good part of his monologue. Derek looks grateful for the reprieve. 

“Going to the party?” Stiles asks him, without malice. All the wolf-y kids are cool, nowadays. 

“Yeah,” Isaac says, looking a little nervously at Derek for approval.

“Be back at nine,” Derek says gruffly. 

_”Nine?”_ Stiles says, in disbelief. “He’s sixteen, not twelve!”

“There’ll be drinking,” Derek protests mulishly.

“He can’t get drunk!” Stiles says, because this is seriously ridiculous.

“Other people can,” Derek says stubbornly. “Drunk drivers.”

“Supernatural healing,” Stiles says, and then, without really thinking, “Midnight.”

“11.30,” Derek says. Stiles shrugs at Isaac, trying to convey, _pick your battles_. 

Isaac grins at Stiles and nods. “11.30. Okay.” 

After he’s gone, Derek looks over at him across the kitchen table, thoughtful. “Why aren’t you at the party?”

“Not my scene,” Stiles says breezily, because the real answer is that he kind of likes this, bickering with Derek when the night is quiet and cool, having somewhere to go where he can just relax. He never would have thought that Derek’s house would turn out to be Stiles’ zen place, but there it was. 

Derek shrugs, but Stiles doesn’t think he’s imagining the pleased tilt to his mouth. “Movie?”

“Sure,” Stiles says, and it’s as easy as that.

Either they aren’t sitting as far apart on the couch as Stiles could have sworn they were, or Derek has freaky ninja powers. Stiles is betting on the second one, because halfway through the movie, Derek actually manages to doze off. His head lolls heavily, coming to a stop against Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles is really positive they weren’t close enough for that to happen, like 30 minutes ago tops. He doesn’t mind, though. It’s pretty ridiculous how much he doesn’t mind. Derek looks young like this, sleep smoothing the furrows out of his brow. His face looks soft and open, vulnerable. Stiles has never seen him sleep before, and he’s pretty certain Scott never has either, maybe not even Isaac. He doesn’t know what that means, but definitely something. Stiles sighs and lets Derek lean more heavily on him, relaxing into the couch so that Derek can sleepily tuck his nose against Stiles’ neck and sigh contentedly. It should be scary, but it’s honestly just nice. Stiles wraps his arm around Derek’s ridiculous, muscle-y back and tries not to think about anything at all.

The movie’s looping on the menu screen when Isaac gets in. Stiles has been staring at it for at least an hour, but he can’t stand the thought of dislodging Derek, who’s well and truly asleep, his breath heavy and slow against Stiles’ throat. Isaac pauses in the doorway, his eyes dancing between the two of them. Stiles tries to shrug without waking Derek. Isaac shrugs back, grinning.

“Have fun?” Stiles mouths. 

Isaac nods, and something in his face relaxes, like he still has to work to remember that he’s allowed to be happy, that nobody’s going to punish him for it.

“That’s good,” Stiles murmurs, shifting a little. His arm is like 100% asleep. Derek makes a low, rumbly noise of protest and sort of slumps more heavily onto Stiles. Stiles tries not to love his stupid face. It doesn’t work.

The next couple of weeks are uneventful, except that something’s up with Erica.

“What’s up with Erica?” Stiles asks Scott. They’re at Scott’s house and Stiles is trying to force some sort of mastery of algebra into Scott’s head. It’s exhausting.

Scott shrugs, glancing down at his phone. “Are you hungry? I could totally eat a pizza right now.” 

“Your mom said she’s cooking,” Stiles says automatically. “You really didn’t notice anything off about Erica? She’s like, not nearly as, you know, aggressive, as usual.” It’s the nicest possible way of saying that Erica hasn’t been snarling or showing her teeth to anybody lately, which is so abnormal. 

“Whatever,” Scott says. “I haven’t really noticed anything. Are you sure you don’t want pizza? I could totally eat pizza _and_ supper.”

“What’s up with Erica?” Stiles asks Jackson at practice, that Friday. 

“I don’t care,” Jackson says flatly, shouldering Stiles a little harder than strictly necessary. It kind of seems like a love tap, but Stiles still gets the message.

“What’s up with Erica?” Scott asks Derek the next evening. They’re sitting at the kitchen table drinking hot chocolate, which is frankly hilarious because it’s Derek. The hot chocolate even has mini marshmallows.

“Something’s off,” Derek says darkly, because he hasn’t really learned that not everything automatically ends in tragedy. Stiles is trying to teach him, but these things evidently take time.

“I know!” Stiles says triumphantly. “Nobody else believed me!”

“She won’t talk to me,” Derek says, sounding frustrated. 

“Yeah, maybe because you’re about as responsive as a brick wall,” Stiles says, grinning when Derek tries to kick him. “Okay, okay, you win at feelings,” he says, and steals a spoonful of Derek’s mini marshmallows while he’s distracted, grinning open and honestly at Stiles. Derek steals them back, grabbing Stiles’ spoon and licking it, looking unconcerned. Stiles’ heart feels painfully tight.

“You’re good at talking,” Derek says innocently, around the spoon. 

“Oh no,” Stiles says. “Definitely not. Absolutely not. No way, no how.”

So that’s how he ends up talking to Erica.

“I, uh, you, uh, feelings, have them,” Stiles begins. Derek has Stiles and Erica cornered alone in the living room. Derek probably thinks it was very subtle, which it was not. Stiles waits for Erica to do something typical, like try to slam him against a wall or threaten his unborn children or something. It’s kind of a shock when she bursts into tears instead.

“Oh, uh, okay,” Stiles says awkwardly. “Um, you want to talk about it?”

“You’re like, so bad at this,” Erica sniffles, but the crying seems to have tapered off as quickly as it began. Stiles offers her a tissue, and Erica blows her nose. 

“Seriously,” Stiles says. “Is everything okay? Even Derek’s worried, and I think that might be one of the signs of the apocalypse.”

Erica laughs, kind of wet and sniffly, but it’s still an improvement. “Do you think Boyd likes me?” she asks suddenly. She looks surprised, like she hadn’t meant to say it. 

“Well yeah,” Stiles says, because he has _eyes_ , and Boyd does too, and uses them mostly for staring at Erica like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen. “Boyd has said probably 20 words in front of me,” Stiles says, “and at least 75% of them were about you. That’s like a ringing endorsement, from him.”

“He hasn’t said anything to me about it,” Erica says, looking like she kind of hates herself for admitting that she cares. 

“Well yeah,” Stiles says again, because this one’s actually easy. “Boyd’s really shy, and you’re kind of really hot and intimidating. You’re going to have to make the first move, for sure.”

“But you think he’ll say yes?” Erica says. She looks a lot better now, like she’s starting to be okay with all of this. Stiles is suddenly, sharply reminded that Erica has no experience with this, that she’s just as lost as Stiles probably would be, if he was considering talking about his feelings instead of just awkwardly cuddling with a hot werewolf.

“He’ll say yes,” Stiles says. 

“Thanks,” Erica says, sounding kind of surprised that she’s saying it. She pauses, clearly considering, then adds, “Derek’s happier when you’re around.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, surprised. “That, um, that’s good. I’m glad.”

“We are too,” Erica says, and she kind of ruffles a hand over his hair before she bounces out of the room.

It’s a surprise to exactly nobody that Boyd practically trips over himself in his haste to say yes. Derek pulls Boyd aside to have a pretty hilarious talk, in which he tells Boyd that he won’t stop Erica from ripping his limbs off or something if Boyd hurts her. Boyd nods and then says, “This is Erica we’re talking about, I’m kind of more worried about her eating me alive.” 

Derek nods thoughtfully, and then gives the same talk to Erica. It’s so endearing that Stiles pretty much can’t take it at all. “They grow up so fast,” he says, when Erica and Boyd have gone off to the movies. Derek cuffs him on the back of the head, but it’s so gentle that it’s almost more like a caress. Stiles tries not to read any of the more obvious things into that, but it’s getting kind of difficult.

The next time the pack’s around for training, the sky opens up in a sudden, violent downpour, soaking everyone. The training devolves into a mud-fight almost immediately, and even Derek rolls around in it a little, barking out a sharp, surprised laugh when he slips into a tussle between Scott and Jackson. Erica drags Stiles into the middle of the pile, and he’s protesting but really he doesn’t mind at all, because he ends up pressed close to the warmth of Derek’s chest, rolling around until they’re all absolutely filthy. 

Everyone takes off to get cleaned up, but Stiles has very important research things to discuss with Derek. So, it only makes sense to accept when Derek says, sounding kind of shy and unsure, “You could just shower here.” Scott’s raising his eyebrows at Stiles, and it’s a problem if Scott’s becoming aware of things. But Stiles can’t bring himself to slog home all cold and disgusting, so he just pretends not to see. 

There are three working bathrooms in the house, but Stiles ends up in Derek’s, because Isaac’s is kind of gross, and the downstairs one is cramped and still smells sterile. Derek’s is warm and inviting, and smells a little bit like his body-wash, more so when Stiles uses some of it, sighing contentedly as he sloughs off the mud. The water pressure is sinfully good. 

He hears the bathroom door open, freezes for a second but then relaxes because it can really only be Derek. Stiles chooses not to consider why Derek’s presence doesn’t concern him. He can just barely make out the cut of Derek’s shoulders through the shower curtain, a dark blur against the warm light of the bathroom. He smells freshly showered, though Stiles isn’t sure how he can tell through the hazy scent of soap that’s already surrounding him. He hears Derek reaching for something, the clink of his toothbrush and the sound of him turning the tap on. It should be weird, it should be so, so weird, but instead it just feels comfortable. Stiles wishes off-handedly that Derek had climbed in the shower with him instead, but that’s more approaching fantasy than reality, so he’ll take this quiet companionship instead. 

When he finally gets out of the shower, he sees that Derek has left a pile of folded up clothes for him. That’s kind of really nice, and Stiles can’t help but press the cotton t-shirt to his nose and inhale the earthy, pleasant smell of Derek. He hates himself a little bit, but Derek’s the one who’s being all thoughtful and clothes-leaving-y, and Stiles can’t help if he takes that thought to its logical conclusion and wonders how Derek will feel about Stiles wearing his clothes. He shakes his head hard, trying to clear it, and puts the stupid outfit on.

The weather’s starting to get cool, but when Stiles makes it downstairs he finds that it’s pleasantly warm. Derek’s getting something out of the oven, chicken pot pie, which is just awesome. Stiles wanders through the doorway to tell him so, and he’s rewarded by one of Derek’s rare, honest smiles. Stiles gives it right back to him, and tries not to melt through the floor. 

They end up in the living room, curled up on the couch. Isaac shows up a few minutes later, evidently drawn out of his room by the smell of food. He grins widely at Stiles, then shoves him over and takes a seat at the end of the couch, leaving Stiles half in Derek’s lap. Derek raises an eyebrow at both of them, like he doesn’t understand their shenanigans but won’t have any of it, then shifts so that Stiles is leaning more easily against him. Stiles doesn’t really know what to do, but he’s too comfortable to move, and besides, Isaac is taking up an unreasonable amount of the couch. Werewolves think they’re so subtle, but they’re really, really not. 

Later, when they’re done eating and Derek is puttering around in the kitchen, Isaac grabs Stiles’ arm and drags him out into the hallway, out of earshot. 

“You smell like him,” Isaac says. 

“I, uh, used his shower stuff,” Stiles says awkwardly. This conversation is seriously the worst.

“You always smell like him,” Isaac counters, and before Stiles can reply, he adds, “He likes it. We can all tell. You like it too.”

“Um,” Stiles says. There is seriously no better response available to him.

“It’s okay,” Isaac says, and his face softens, like he can tell how uncomfortable Stiles is. Well good on him, Stiles probably reeks of discomfort. “We want him to be happy,” Isaac says quietly. “He was never very happy, before this.”

“And he is now?” Stiles asks, surprised out of his awkwardness.

“Yeah,” Isaac says, and somehow, it sounds like he’s giving his permission, which is ridiculous on so many levels. “Now he is. But remember what you told Erica, about Boyd?” 

Stiles nods. He knows exactly where this is going, because he’s not an idiot.

“Well Derek’s like that too,” Isaac says, like that isn’t patently obvious. “He’s actually worse, I think.”

“Well yeah,” Stiles can’t restrain himself from saying.

Isaac huffs out a laugh. “Just, just know that you make him, uh,” Isaac is kind of blushing, now. “You make him feel that way,” Isaac finishes, and looks up through his lashes at Stiles. He seems like way more than a year younger than Stiles, open and vulnerable. It makes Stiles’ heart clench in his chest.

“Okay,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Noted.”

“Okay,” Isaac agrees. 

“Hey assholes, “Derek calls from the kitchen, not sounding at all annoyed. “Rinse your plates off.”

Stiles just has to love him, because how could he not?

“So,” Stiles says, the next time he’s alone with Scott. “Do you think Derek’s into me?”

“ _Into_ you?” Scott asks, weighting the words significantly.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, uncomfortable. “You know, into me.”

Scott’s face clears. “ _Yeah_ ,” he says, like it’s obvious. “I’m just pretty surprised that you don’t already know that. “ 

It’s a valid point. If Scott has it figured out before Stiles does, that’s definitely saying something. Stiles abruptly remembers that they’re talking about Derek _liking_ him, and freaks out. 

“Dude, your pulse,” Scott says. “Are you having like a heart attack or something?”

“No,” Stiles chokes out, “I’m just fine.” He is _not_ just fine. 

“Okay,” Scott says, seeming satisfied with that non-explanation. He goes back to staring at Allison’s Facebook. “Good talk, bro.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles says absently, because _Derek likes him_.

Stiles doesn’t turn up at the Hale house over the next couple days, because he’s extremely busy trying to figure out how he can look at Derek without blurting out a lot of really embarrassing things about feelings and how he wants to maybe lick Derek’s face. In movies this kind of shit is easy. They like each other, so it should be as simple as that. They should be able to run through a rainstorm into each other’s arms, or maybe a field of daisies or something. Okay, perhaps Stiles has been watching too much Lifetime, but he’s in serious need of guidance, here. Derek is Derek, though. He has the total package of issues, and Stiles is just about driving himself crazy with all the ways Derek could say no, all because Derek is too damaged to think this is something he can have.

“Just talk to him,” Allison advises him, when Stiles breaks down and calls her. 

“Is that how you got Scott to ask you out?” Stiles asks.

“Nah,” Allison says. “Scott’s not great at that kind of up-front communication.”

“And you think _Derek’s_ any better?” Stiles asks, incredulously.

“Hmm,” Allison says, conceding the point. “Maybe you could bake him something. Everyone likes cookies.”

He could, except they had totally baked cookies last weekend, because Derek probably hadn’t done it since before his life was tragic, and Isaac maybe never had. They’d eaten way too many chocolate chips and Derek had rubbed a little bit of cookie dough off Stiles’ cheek and licked it off his own fingertip while looking softly down at Stiles, so warm it hurt. Derek is _never_ going to say anything.

“Not interested,” Lydia says, when Stiles tries her. “But I’m thinking you could just keep doing whatever you’re doing. He’s pretty obsessed with you.”

“It doesn’t help, if he won’t _do_ anything about it,” Stiles half-wails, throwing himself down on his bed in a fit of pique.

“Uh huh,” Lydia says, and apparently the conversation is over.

It becomes evident that things are getting bad when the entire rest of the pack shows up at Stiles’ front door.

“You made him _sad_ ,” Isaac says, sounding betrayed. He pushes Stiles out of the way and Boyd and Erica troop through the door, Jackson following them, looking like it’s under extreme duress. 

“He keeps training us,” Boyd says. “Like in the middle of the night. I’m a working guy, I can’t be doing laps at 2 AM.”

“He never smiles anymore,” Isaac says. “When you were around he smiled.” He manages to make it sound like Stiles is the absolute worst, which he kind of already feels, so that’s just great.

“I don’t want to be here,” Jackson says stiffly. “But this has to stop. I can’t do any more push-ups.”

“I’ll bite your face,” Erica says. “I will, and it will _hurt_.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Stiles says, hating them all. “I just don’t know how to talk to him.”

“You’ve been talking to Derek all along!” Erica says, throwing her hands up in disgust. “Figure it out!”

“Fine,” Stiles says flatly, and shoves them all out the door.

“Um, kid?” Stiles’ dad says from behind him. Seriously? His life is genuinely the worst. “Derek as in Hale?”

“Um,” Stiles says miserably. “I guess we should talk.”

His dad lets him babble on for a good half hour, until Stiles is pretty much exhausted. His dad has the bottle of whiskey out, but he’s only had one shot, which is not too bad.

“Okay,” his dad says quellingly, taking pity on him. “Now, I know I absolutely should not be approving of this, given many very, very good reasons.” He pauses, eyeing the whiskey, before continuing. “But you’ve been happy, kid. I haven’t seen you happy like this in years, since-” His dad cuts off, but Stiles knows what he’s saying. He swallows around the lump in his throat, because if his dad really sees that, then this is a bigger deal than even Stiles thought.

“If he makes you happy,” Stiles’ dad says haltingly. “He does make you happy, right? Nothing you, uh, don’t want to be doing?”

“ _Dad_ ,” Stiles says, ending that line of thought for hopefully forever.

“Okay, okay,” he says, putting his hands up. “Okay. Then I guess you just need to be the brave one, son. That boy’s been through a lot of hurt. I can see why he wouldn’t want to open himself up for more.”

“Fiiiine,” Stiles says, but he can’t help grinning a little. It’s still unbelievably, all-encompassingly scary, but his dad being okay with it, that helps.

“Well,” his dad says. “Go make your big move. Don’t ever tell me gory details, or else I might have to show Derek my weapons, which nobody will enjoy.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, “Okay.”

“Okay,” his dad echoes, but before Stiles can go, he gets up and hugs him, over the table. “Be safe.”

“Ugh,” Stiles says, but he hugs him back.

What seemed like a reasonably solid plan dissolves into nothing during the short drive to the Hale house. Stiles never actually worked out what he was going to say, and since talking to Derek is the entirety of the plan, that sucks. “Be the brave one,” Stiles mutters to himself. Well, Derek did say that he was good at talking. Stiles guesses he’ll just have to use his skills. 

It’s dark by the time he arrives, but the house looks invitingly warm, light shining out through the windows. Stiles can make out the muted warmth of the living room, and the smaller, brighter square of the kitchen door, through which he can see a hunched form slumped over at the table. It’s clearly Derek, because only he can brood with that level of skill and determination. Stiles tells his stupid heart to stop pounding, and gets out of the jeep, rubbing his clammy hands against his jeans. Ugh. Being the brave one is hard.

He doesn’t go in through the front door, because that way lies a pack of angry werewolves, and honestly nothing is worth braving their collective disappointment. He cuts around to the kitchen door instead, opening it gently so as not to startle Derek. 

Somehow he still manages to, which is weird because Derek usually knows he’s coming from like a literal mile away. Derek does an obvious double-take at the sight of him, though, and it kind of breaks Stiles’ heart to see the way Derek shrinks back into himself, like he needs a shield. 

“Hey,” he says quietly, raising an awkward hand.

“Hi,” Derek says gruffly, pointedly not looking at him.

“Sorry I haven’t been around much,” Stiles offers. “I had some stuff to figure out.”

Derek looks up at him, then, like he can’t seem to help it. “Oh,” he says, with absolutely no inflection. He really isn’t going to make this easy.

Stiles takes a deep breath, considers, and then says fuck it and just starts talking. “So, the thing is,” he says, not really thinking at all, “You like me.”

Derek makes a noise, like he’s going to deny it, like he thinks it could come back to haunt him if he doesn’t.

“No, shut up,” Stiles says impatiently. “You like me, and obviously I like you too. You could probably smell it on me, if you got your head out of that perpetual cloud of misery or whatever. Everyone else we know is well aware of it.” He holds up a hand as Derek tries to say something again, looking hunted. “Nope, I’m not done. No arguments until I’m done.”

It feels like a long-shot, but Derek subsides, slumping back down against the table.

“I’m sure you have a lot of reasons why this won’t work, okay? I get it. I really do. But people are saying they can’t remember the last time I was as happy as I am with you, okay? And you? Nobody even knew you had the physical ability to smile, but you do when I’m around. That means something. We’re good together.” Stiles pauses, because that all came out really fast and he needs to catch his breath.

Derek puts his head up, like he wants to say something. His face looks like Stiles doesn’t think he has ever seen it before, open, and wow, hopeful.

“Are you going to tell me why this can’t work?” Stiles asks.

Derek shakes his head no.

“Any other complaints or problems?” 

Derek shakes his head again.

“Okay,” Stiles says, “Then what?”

“Stiles,” Derek says, and his name comes out choked, like he’s trying not to growl it, or even sob it maybe. “Come _here_.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, and his pulse goes up, just like that, just on those three words. He stumbles over to Derek, closing the distance between them.

Derek reaches out and puts his hands on Stiles’ hips. He has this stupid look on his face like he doesn’t quite know what he did to deserve this, and Stiles just really wants to kiss him. 

So he does. He leans his head down and tilts his mouth toward Derek’s unfairly pretty face, and then they’re kissing, warm and soft and perfect, which is to say, at a very awkward angle that Stiles doesn’t care about in the least.

Derek makes a noise against his mouth and pulls Stiles down onto his lap, and that’s even better. That’s all heat and a wet slide of tongues, and Derek’s teeth scraping gently against Stiles’ lower lip. It feels too good to be real, seriously.

Stiles pulls back fractionally, because he feels like he’s forgotten how to breathe. He gasps huge lung-fuls, his hands tight on Derek’s shoulders. “Okay,” he says, and it comes out all embarrassing and breathy. “Okay, that’s awesome. That is so awesome.”

Derek tilts their foreheads together, looking up at Stiles. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, it is.” His arms tighten, one around Stiles’ waist, the other draped across his back. “Don’t go away again.”  
“I won’t,” Stiles says. “At least, not if you can promise that’s going to keep happening. That really needs to keep happening.”

“It’s going to happen a lot,” Derek says, “As long as you want it to.”

That’s too cute for words, that Derek’s _still_ not sure that Stiles really wants him, so then Stiles has to kiss him some more, and there might be some pretty inappropriate grinding, especially in a kitchen when other people are in the next room over. So, of course that’s when everyone chooses to barge in, because Stiles is surrounded by complete assholes.

“Are daddy and daddy still fighting?” Erica asks, sounding altogether too amused. 

“Am I going to have to sleep on Stiles’ floor on the weekends?” Isaac says. “Is it because you don’t love me enough?”

“You guys are the worst,” Stiles says, but he can’t stop grinning, because Derek isn’t trying to shove him off his lap. In fact he seems to be holding Stiles even tighter, like he’s afraid Stiles might go away. How bossy, and adorable.

“I don’t care about any of this,” Jackson says, like he’s really worried that they think he might have grown a heart or something. 

“Sure you don’t,” Boyd says, and grabs him and Isaac by the scruffs of their necks. “We’re going to watch a movie now,” he says significantly, like he’s daring any of them to argue, and everyone shuffles out and leaves them alone again. 

“I’ve never seen your room,” Stiles says, because he is awesome at hinting. 

Derek looks amused. “Do you want to see my room?”

“You’re actually the worst at this,” Stiles says, but it’s hard to say it seriously when he physically cannot stop kissing Derek all over his face.

“That’s probably true,” Derek admits, and Stiles tries to piss him off some more, until Derek puts his annoyingly big muscles to use and carries Stiles up the stairs. It’s a nice room, but Derek is much nicer, in a variety of ways.

Next weekend, on movie night, everyone shuffles around until Derek and Stiles are sitting together, and Derek puts his arm around Stiles. Stiles just leans into it, because sometimes things really are that easy. 

“You guys are gross,” Scott says, but he doesn’t mean it at all. 

“You’re grosser,” Erica says, but she really can’t talk, because Boyd’s head is on her knee, and she looks hilariously happy about it. Scott throws his arm around Isaac companionably, and Isaac grins and elbows him affectionately. Lydia makes a face until Jackson moves over for her, and Allison pushes her way in on Lydia's other side, laughing. Derek wraps his big, warm hand around the base of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles realizes, distant through his contentment, that somehow they’ve built themselves a family.


End file.
